scurlock | oom: green lake, texas

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oom: green lake, texas

The final half hour of the ride into town feels like it takes just a few seconds - not long enough to get his nerves under control - but it isn't long until he's riding into Green Lake with the late afternoon sun. He hadn't pushed the paint too hard, not knowing the conditioning of the horse all that well, yet. Plus, he'd wanted to take his time in making sure that he didn't get there too early.

His plan, as it was, stood simple. Try to blend in - which he knew would be difficult, in a small town - and eventually find a way to figure out where the Barlow ranch was. From what Katherine had told him, she'd grown up somewhere in the county so it would be within riding distance. Hopefully he'd be able to get directions.

And maybe she would be there. The annual Independence Day picnic seemed as if it wasn't some fresh idea for a party they threw together the year she brought him to visit. Tradition and heritage were important.

So were first impressions.

He took the main road, that the stage line used, on his way into own. It was obvious as he neared it that there was indeed a picnic going on. Things looked a little bit different, but he'd expected that. Then again, he looked different too.

This was not the well to-do teacher from New York City stopping in for a visit, this was the soft spoken, slightly worn 'round the edges cowboy who was looking for work and a place to shack up for the night. With a tired horse, and promise of a bit of relaxation on the holiday, it seemed as if Green Lake would fit the bill quite nicely.

Doc leads the paint into town, and tips his hat politely to each person he passes, until he finds a rail with a water trough at it and guides the horse to it. He dismounts the horse easily and ties him to the rail, letting him drink while he tries to figure out just how to go about this, brushing his shirt off to rid it of some of the dust.

Texas in July is warm, which is why his coat is tied to the saddle and his pack, and he could use for a cold drink himself...

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The small smile is a welcome sight, and it immediately puts the older man at ease.

"Well, if a 'feed' s'what you're lookin' for, I'd say you picked the right day to stop into town," he laughs good-humoredly, answering the nod of 'Jay's head with a similar one of his own, turning back to the square.

"Green Lake's an oasis. Folk come 'round these parts, most oft decide they don't want to leave," he offers, as they stroll along the broad way. He gestures idly to a fellow a few dozen feet up ahead, in a blue silk vest and wide-brimmed hat. "That's our Mayor right there, Charles Walker Sr., with his family."

The two men meet glances, and Doc Hawthorn tips his hat respectfully. Mayor Walker, stogie held firm between his grinning lips, tips his head in reply, and starts moseying towards them.

"Can't say I blame them for not wantin' to, little slice of paradise as it is," he admits, taking in the sights of the town - his curious nature at how different it looks 'now' easily passes as a first timer acquainting himself with the layout - as they walk.

At the name 'Walker', he glances forward and manages somehow to keep his expression neutral, even pleasant.

Once they've joined up with the Mayor, he tips his hat and nods his head a bit in greeting.

"Afternoon, Mayor."

"Howdy, boys," replies Charles Walker, voice lilting, and jowls turned upward in a deep smile. He nods again, the gesture directed at Doc Hawthorn, but his eyes linger on 'Jay', narrowing slightly as he takes a drag off his cigar.

He's sizing the boy up.

As he exhales the long pull of smoke, having the courtesy to direct it away from the men, that grin of his widens even further. "We got us a newcomer?"

Behind him, approaches a younger man -- boy, no more than eighteen -- remarkably like Charles Walker Sr. in most every outward fashion.

Doc is well aware that he's being sized up, which is why he keeps his eyes and body relaxed, conversational - but there's a toughness underneath him, from working long hours of rough work and labor in the hot sun.

He keeps the outlaw, the edge, and the razor-sharp bite hidden away.

For now.

"Afternoon, Mayor Walker," he replies promptly, after the question, stepping forward to offer the man a handshake, as well as his introductions.

His eyes notice the younger Walker approaching, and he tamps down the swell of heat that sears up his chest and just offers a nod, and a smile instead.

Doc Hawthorn is polite in his adherence to proper protocol, aiding the introductions along as a mediary between the three men.

"And this is Charles Walker Jr.," he gestures with open palm, indicating the teenaged boy.

"Howdy," he offers, behind his own plume of smoke.

"What brings you to Green Lake, Mr. Gordon?" asks Charles Sr.

Doc Hawthorn places a gentle hand on 'Jay's shoulder before he can answer. "Please excuse me a moment. I must be finding my wife, before the contests are ended."

He nods politely to the Walkers, then heads off toward the crowd.

"Of course," he says, as Hawthorn takes his leave to go find his wife among the crowd of townsfolk, nodding politely before he turns his attention back to the Walkers.

He shifts just slightly on his feet, one thumb hooked easily in his gun belt, at his left hip.

"Well, sir, I was headin' south outta Galveston and lookin' for a place to stop for a spell, and when I came in through town via the stage route, realized that you all were havin' yourselves quite the picnic for Independence Day...figured I might as well see what all was goin' on."

Sr. glances behind him to Jr. briefly, before rolling his cigar absently between his fingers, laughing deep enough to make his shoulders shake.

"You sure picked a humdinger of a day to be travelin', boyo!" he remarks, returning the stogy to his teeth. As he speaks, it makes his words somewhat muffled.

"Yep, we've been havin' our annual picnic this time every year, 'round about since what? '76?"

"Hundred year anniversary," Jr. nods when his father turns to him, but he keeps his eyes on 'Jay.'

"Right," the Mayor grins, turning back to squint at 'Jay' again.

"You thinkin' about settlin', Mr. Gordon?"

"Centennial, is that right," he murmurs, seemingly impressed by the town's ability to thrive that long - not that it's hard to believe. Good land, water, and open space are all people need to set up camp and start to put down roots.

Doc looks from Walker to Walker, settling on the Mayor again. "Not sure 'bout the long term," he replies. "But Dr. Hawthorn has kindly offered to let me stay at his place for a spell."

The fact that the Walkers aren't the most educated folk might come readily apparent by the look of confusion on young Charles Walker's face over the word "centennial." His father's focus is on making him a good land man and political figure. He could care less about his diction.

"Ah-yeah, ol' Doc Hawthorn s'got a soft spot for the wayward. You'll be quite comfortable. His missus, Millicent, could part the heavens s'bove, with her cookin'," the Mayor chortles.

Beat.

"What sort of business you into, Mr. Gordon? Or, is that why you're wanderin' a spell?"

"Livestock. The port outta Galveston ships cattle all 'long the southeastern coast, New Orleans, all the way down to the very tip of Florida," he replies. "I was last working for one of the major shipping companies, at the stockyard right there in town."

A slight, one shouldered shrug.

"As for why I'm passin' through, well, business is slow this time of year, summer and all, so I'm takin' a spell to travel a bit."

This earns a slow, considering nod from Charles Sr., as he puffs thoughtfully on his cigar.

"Cattle ain't a bad business to get into, if yer lookin' to make a name for yourself." Beat. "Somewhere down the line, at least."

His son straightens his shoulders proudly, his six iron picking up the late afternoon light across his hips as he shifts.

"My daddy ain't just the Mayor. We own all the land east of this here lake. Most of them peach trees, too."

"Yessir, we don't do too bad for ourselves," Mayor Walker grins genially.

Doc ignores the comment about the cattle business and focuses his attention on Mayor Walker's son, keeping his eyes from glancing at the piece on his hip. He offers him a smile, instead.

"That's a fine bit of land you got there," he agrees. "I rode in that way, long the road, and I would be so bold as to say I could smell the peaches long 'fore I could even see the outskirts of town proper."

A glance at the Mayor. "Sure beats riding down 'long the Rio, near the Chisholm ranches," yes, plural. "If you catch my meanin'," he quips. "Though for a cattleman he ain't done half bad."

Given that they named the trail after him, and all.

But he smiles again and looks around at the town. He nods his head, respectful and graciously. "Fine bit of land, indeed. Seems my horse picked the best little patch of Texas he could possibly find."

Edited 2009-01-09 20:29 (UTC)

Jr. has no reservations about focusing right back, gaze steady and even, impertinent little grin still at his lips.

Charles Sr. chuckles, shifting a bit as his posture relaxes. He likes this kid.

"I do indeed, son. You work with Chisholm, then?"

"Best land in Texas, you dun near guessed it," Jr. pipes in, shoulders still straight. "Ain't just any place lucky enough to have fresh water, this close to the coast. Good soil, too."

"Good folk," the Mayor adds.

"I've worked with some of his line riders before, but I'm not a part of his company, no," he says. "Been down to his place a time or two, but that was some years back."

He reaches up to pull his hat off and brush his hair back slightly, the long strands going behind his ears a bit, before he replaces it on his head. "Awful nice weather you got, coolin' effect off the lakewater and all. Perfect day for such a fine picnic. Folk do seem to be enjoying themselves."

From what he can see over here, anyways. He figures that once the Mayor tires of questioning him, he'll wander off to go socialize with his loyal citizens, that cigar between his teeth and grin planted on his face.

Doc's just looking for a glass of water, and eventually, for her.

But he's in no rush. It wouldn't be proper.

"You get a lot of folk comin' in from all the surroundin' county, I'd imagine."

Indeed, during their brief conversation passersby have paused for an "Afternoon, Mayor!" or a "Good day, Mayor Walker!"

Charles Walker is good enough to acknowledge each greeting, but for the time 'Jay' holds more of his interest than any of the other townsfolk.

"Yeah, mighty fine weather, to be sure. Mild, for a Texas summer." Which means it's hot, but not unbearable if the gentleman around town rather keep a suit jacket on.

Still, a cold drink wouldn't go amiss, and he can see on Doc's face that the young man is thirsty. His lips quirk briefly.

"We get folk on up from all over, boy. The town, she's a-growin', fairly steady. We do all right, we do all right. Happy citizens mean a happy Mayor!" he laughs, clapping Doc on the shoulder, before tipping his chin over his shoulder to address Jr. "Hey son, why don't you go fetch some refreshments for our gentleman guest, here. First drink's on me."

Charles Jr. glances from face to face, before stepping back respectfully and heading over toward the General Store, where they've been pulling up "cold" drinks from the cellar.

The Mayor and his 'guest' stroll a bit.

"I do appreciate that, Mayor Walker," he says honestly, as they begin to walk again. "And I don't doubt that Green Lake will have any problems with expanding into a right smart town, given the things I've seen so far today already."

Pleasant weather, fresh water, good soil, and friendly people.

(Always find something a person is proud of, and compliment them on it.)

"Awful nice sense'a community feel, that's always important for makin' sure that everyone's happy," he continues.

The mayor answers, of course, keeping that arm around Doc's shoulders and that smile on his face, but another -- female -- voice can easily be heard calling from a few yards off.

"Doc!"

He's not 'Doc', here. But that doesn't mean he doesn't lift his eyes to the voice a few yards away and focus his attention on the young woman calling out.

He knows it's her. It has to be. He could recognize that voice anywhere. Even if it's a little younger than he's used to hearing...

(What if she recognizes him? What if the timeline...)

He tamps down that wave of mild worry, and quickly at that.

Young Miss Barlow comes running from among the crowd around the contest booths, skirts in her hand as her prim little heels kick up dust behind her.

She runs to the waiting arms of Dr. Hawthorn, who's laughing almost as much as she is, hugging her tightly and swinging her around a few times before setting her back to her feet again.

She's holding a blue ribbon in her hand, face positively beaming, and he makes a show of it as they speak in tones too low for 'Jay' to hear this far away, as another middle-aged gentleman slowly strolls up behind them, smile on his weathered face.

Look at her. She's so damn young, can't be more than a teenager...she's so happy.

For awhile, he'd been worried about riding into Green Lake and not seeing Katherine among the crowd at the picnic. What if it was a different Green Lake? What if their worlds weren't the same? What if she didn't exist in his?

But seeing her, the way she practically leaps into Dr. Hawthorn's arms, the infectious smile on her face...the blue ribbon seals it. This is the Katherine he knows. And the man behind her...

Her father.

There's a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but he's grateful that his face shows none of that.

"It seems the young lady's won a contest, if I'm not mistaken," he comments idly, to the Mayor, small smile on his features.

When her father comes close enough, he and Doc Hawthorn smile, firmly shaking hands and ending up in a tight embrace.

"Seems so," Mayor Walker agrees, turning his attention out to the small group. "That would be lil' Miss Barlow, I believe. Won the ribbon last year, too. Dandy of a thing, without a momma to show her around a kitchen."

Because everybody's business is open to criticism in a small town like Green Lake.

Millicent Hawthorn has joined the small group, and she first embraces Katherine, cupping the young girl's face in her hands as she appraises her looks. She then turns to Mr. Barlow, who has to bend down to accept the embrace from the other woman, features softening a good deal as he does so.

"They come down for the picnic, near every year. Just the two of 'em, and one of his hires," the Mayor adds offhandedly.

Doc nods slightly as the Mayor speaks. "Reckon say some womenfolk are just born with a gift for things in the kitchen," he comments.

He will say nothing about the lack of a mother, but will file the detail away in his memory to keep track of what's already happened and what hasn't, yet.

"He have property outside of town, then?" If he's got hires, well, then he must have some sort of outfit for them to work, and he's sure that Mayor Walker knows all about the business of the neighboring folk as well as the business of all those within Green Lake's limits.

Call it a hunch.

A mighty fine hunch, indeed.

There's a hint of the devil in Charles Sr.'s eyes when he looks at 'Jay.' Like a man recognizing his own face in a mirror after several years time.

"Ah-yeah," he answers, cutting the word short and sharp. "Has himself an estate few miles north of here, near Heyser. Pretty good size, too. Can't complain, seein' as how he keeps my family in bacon throughout the winter."

He smirks, razor sharp.

The smile Doc returns could be seen as 'knowning', but not quite. After all, he's new to the area and hasn't made any judgment on the folk that live or work around it.

And he's not really the type to judge.

He nods, slightly, then looks back to the small unit of people, the Barlows and the Hawthorns. They seem to still be in conversation. It's obvious to Doc that they're close. Then again, knowing what she's said about the Hawthorns helping her after her daddy died...he pushes that thought down into his gut and keeps it there.

"Everybody's good at somethin'," he agrees. "Be it land or farmin'."

Or just charming folk to get what you want.

Mayor Walker narrows his eyes at him again, looking as if he's about to ask something, when his son returns with two cool sun teas.

"Thank you, son," he says, taking one and encouraging 'Jay' to have at the other.

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